A Different Outsider
by DazzlinPinkLemonade
Summary: The Civil Rights Movement and the events that went along with it before and after it happened in the 1960s, around the time of the Outsiders. So guess who is having a worse time than the Greasers? The black girl who moved to town...read more inside.
1. Prologue

A Different Outsider

_**Summary: The Civil Rights Movement and the events that went along with it before and after it happened in the 1960s, around the time of **_**the Outsiders**_**. So guess who is having a worse time than the Greasers? The black girl who moved to town. After the gang gets to know her better, they notice something strange about the way Becky treats Dally. So is she hiding something? And what about Johnny's doctor, who has seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth? OC. **_

_**(A/N): **__Hi guys! This is my first story. Hope you like it! _

Disclaimer: I don't own Outsiders. Things would be different if I did.

**Prologue**

_**A knock broke the silence of Ponyboy's room. Ponyboy looked up from the book in his hands. He was having trouble staying focused on it and was half glad to break away. This was very unusual for Ponyboy, but then again so was everything else.**_

"_**Come in," he called flatly. **_

_**Darry opened the door. He had a big smile on his face, and, also to Ponyboy's surprise, tears were in his eyes.**_

"_**What is it Darry?"**_

"_**There's some…people here to see you."**_

_**Ponyboy perked up. **_

**Johnny's death…**

Silence. An eerie silence filled the hospital room. Dally and Ponyboy had come back from the rumble, to tell Johnny about their victory. It had been an exciting moment. The triumph and joy of it breaking through the pain Pony and Dally were in. But that's what it had been: a moment.

And now, Johnny's last words sat, hanging in the air. "_Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold_," he'd said.

Dally couldn't take it. He had to do something. So he ran. That was one thing he was good at. And no one would catch him. No one could.

Ponyboy stared down at his body. "Johnny. Please don't be dead. Please," he begged. His voice quavered. "Please."

_It's no use_, he thought. _You're talking to a lifeless body._

So, in a daze, he left, stumbling and crashing into anything he came into contact with. He crashed into a man, Johnny's doctor, as he left the room. He mumbled an apology, keeping his eyes focused on the ground.

Johnny was dead. And there was nothing he could do.

Back in the room, the nurse walked in. By the way his two friends had left so quickly, he must have passed. For a few seconds, she looked down at the poor boy. The one who had rejected his own mother. The one who had saved those kids.

Then she noticed it. His eyes were fluttering.

His voice was so low she almost didn't catch the word. "Dead?" And his eyes opened.

The nurse gasped and backed up into the wall.

"Dead?" he repeated. This time he was sitting up, slowly, brushing the long shaggy hair out of his eyes. That shouldn't have been possible; the flaming beam had broken his back.

"I ain't dead, Ponyboy. Ponyboy? Dally?" Johnny glanced around the room. His eyes fell on the surprised nurse. "Where are my friends?"

"They just left. Because you- But you just…died."

Johnny let that set in for a moment. "They think I'm dead. Ponyboy…Dally. Oh no. Dally. I've got to go."

He _hopped_ out of the bed and onto his feet. In a flash, he was running down the hallway, in only his socks and underwear. But right before he left, he had grabbed something off the bedside table: The _Gone with the Wind_ book.

He ran past nurses and family members pushing patients in wheelchairs. All the way down the stairs. "Ponyboy! Dally!" he yelled.

Then he ran into his doctor. "Johnny." The doctor didn't seem the least bit shocked.

"Do you know where my two friends went? Greased hair. One with greenish eyes and bleached blond hair, the other with white-blond hair and blue eyes?" _**  
><strong>_

"Yeah. The younger one left, crashing into everything he passed. I'm not sure about the other one."

"Glory, I've gotta go. Thanks, Doc."

He began to run off.

"Um, Johnny?"

Johnny turned back. "Yeah?"

"You might want to put on some clothes. I don't think that's legal." Out of nowhere, the doctor pulled out Johnny's clothing and tossed them to him. It was the exact outfit from the accident, permanently stained by ash, but otherwise clean and like it had been before.

Johnny caught the bundle. "Thanks, Doc."

Johnny ran, at the same time pulling on his pants and shirt. Forget shoes. If Sodapop could do it every day, so could he.

Johnny came running up to the Dollar Store, looking for pay phone to call the Curtis house. The lights were still on inside the building, and it was empty except for the clerk and a boy. He was pretty beaten up, like he'd been in a rumble. His light hair was way past tousled and he was fingering a magazine, like he wanted to put it in his leather jacket. Dally.

Johnny ran into the store. "Dally!"

A look of confusion passed over his face. "Johnny? No, I'm losing my mind. Johnny's dead."

"Dally, I ain't dead. I don't know how, but I'm alive and healed."

Dally shook his head, leaning into the support of the postcard rack. He refused to believe it. "I'm losing my mind."

Johnny opened the book and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Read it, Dally."

Reluctantly, Dally took it with shaking hands. He scanned over it quickly before lunging at Johnny…and pulling him into a hug. They gripped each other tightly. Then they walked out of the store grinning. As they walked down the street, Dally smacked Johnny in the back of his head.

"Ow. What was that for?"

"For thinking I would look at a dumb sunset."

Hours later, Ponyboy sat in his room. A book lay in his hands, untouched. Johnny was dead. And Dally was likely somewhere dead or dead drunk.

_No, Johnny's not dead. He's probably in the lot, smoking a cigarette, watching the stars._ And Ponyboy believed it.

A knock broke the silence of Ponyboy's room.

"Come in," he called flatly.

Darry opened the door. He had a big smile on his face, and, also to Ponyboy's surprise, tears were in his eyes.

"What is it Darry?"

"There's some…people here to see you."

Ponyboy perked up.

Dally walked in. "You ain't dead or drunk," Ponyboy commented.

"Well, hello to you too," Dally replied, rolling his eyes.

"Darry said there were some people. As in more than one."

Dally leaned back into the dresser and crossed his arms. "Yeah, Ponyboy. I'm doing fine. I decided not to rob a store or get boozed up."

Pony glanced at the floor. "Sorry," he mumbled. Running a hand through his newly blond hair and laying back on the bed he added, "Look, Dal, I'm not in the mood for games. I don't even know why _you_ are. Johnny's gone and-"

Ponyboy faltered as he heard Dally shuffle across the room and twist the doorknob.

"Dally, what are y-"

"Hey, Pony."

He almost didn't recognize the voice; he'd really thought he wouldn't hear it again. He'd been half expecting that Cherry Valance would walk into the room, but as he sat up he realized how wrong his guess was.

Johnny stood there in the doorway.

Ponyboy's lips moved uselessly, trying to find something to say. He wanted to accuse Dally for playing such a cruel joke or to wake up from this impossible dream. His vision blurred with tears and his shoulders shook. When his sight cleared again, Johnny was still there.

He didn't have time to process any thought or feeling before he rushed his friend. They hugged each other, tears now leaking freely.

The rest of the gang ran in. Two-Bit, Steve, Soda (who was crying the hardest), and Darry came in and surrounded the two. Even Dally joined in the group hug.

Even though they all looked like they were half dead- and felt as bad as they appeared- a small sense of hope was there in the room. Like everything would be okay.

_**(A/N): Okay, so hope you liked it. Review, please!**_


	2. Chapter 1

A Different Outsider

_**(A/N): **__Hey, guys! I know, I took a while to update. So sorry. School has been so busy. Teachers apparently thought that it is a good idea to give all the tests possible before winter break. __ Anyways, thanks to all those who reviewed on this story and my others! _

**Warning**: There is one word in here that may be found offensive. I'm trying to make this story as realistic as possible without getting too foul-mouthed, but I apologize.

Anyway…

_Hope you guys enjoy!_

* * *

><p><strong>Part 1: The Tulsa Project<strong>

**Chapter 1**

The sun had already set by the time they drove into Tulsa. The sky was beginning to darken and Rebecca watched as people began to trickle into the streets, their figures illuminated by the flickering streetlights. They were mainly teens, all riled up and groomed for the night that had just begun. A few glanced at her auntie's car as they drove by and she was glad that it was just dark enough that they couldn't see in. The last thing she wanted was to be discriminated against before she had been in town ten minutes.

It was a long drive from Shreveport, and both she and her Aunt Ruth felt restless and cramped. The farther northwest they went, the less they were welcome, and many nights were spent laid across the seats of the car. Becky begged to be allowed to drive at night while her aunt slept off the exhaustion of her day driving, but Aunt Ruth was keen on obeying the law.

Even after the night they had to stop in the parking lot of a gas station in the backstreets of Cleveland, Mississippi, on the account of Aunt Ruth's tiredness, she still wouldn't give in. One almost-crash into a telephone pole was enough to help Becky convince her aunt that it was a good time to stop for the night, but it hadn't helped in proving that driving in shifts was a better idea than what they had been doing the past few days.

"I'm going to need practice; I'm fifteen," Becky complained later as she stretched out across the backseat.

"And you'll get practice when I stop through Tulsa from Abilene," Aunt Ruth promised. There was a short pause before she carefully added, "Or…maybe you can look up your father. I'm sure he'd be glad to teach you."

"You obviously haven't met my father."

Becky got a stern (though halfhearted) talking-to about her "sass" from her aunt for saying it. It was the type of scolding she dreaded, the one that started with "look, missy," but she didn't care. Becky had only met her father a handful of times, and they were enough for her to know that he was a dirty, rotten scumbag that she never wanted to hear from- or about- again.

Now, Aunt Ruth sped through Tulsa, heading north. Where Becky really needed to be was on the West Side, but her aunt didn't need to know that. The secret sat on her chest heavily, but she was getting used to the weight. There were many other things that Aunt Ruth didn't "need to know," and the guilt of not telling them was already disappearing.

A good twenty minutes later, the car began to ease into a stop. Becky opened her eyes, giving up the façade of sleep she feigned after they'd left the center of town.

"We here?" she asked.

"Yep."

Sitting forward, Becky glanced under the visor and looked through the front windshield. A squat, gray building with chipping paint sat off to the side of the road, barely a couple of stories high. Instead of the usual fluorescent sign she'd seen outside many of these buildings, a rotted wooden board with painted letters read, "MOTEL." There were only a few windows on the motel, all noticeably black and dirty. The roof sloped a bit, and probably needed to be shingled again. It looked unstable and falling apart, but it was nothing new to her. In fact, this was a step up from many of the motels she'd been in during her lifetime.

"You'll stay here for tonight," Aunt Ruth said, breaking the short silence. "The apartment I arranged for will be ready tomorrow. It's only a couple blocks down."

Becky nodded and leaned back into the seat. The secret- as well as the plan that went along with it- swirled in her mind, and, with doubt beginning to creep in, she wondered if she could pull it off.

_I'll be sleeping here tonight and living in the apartment by tomorrow, just like Auntie wants_, she told herself in an attempt at reassurance. _But…I just have to make a short detour, first_.

Still, the apprehension ate at her. And, feeling her aunt's prying eyes on her, she knew it was showing.

She willed herself to meet her aunt's eyes and to focus on them only. They were a deep brown, much darker and wiser than her own. Where she usually found comfort, she saw exhaustion instead. Small lines were beginning to form around them from all the fatigue and stress of the past few weeks as well. It made her look older, and again the guilt struck her. Auntie had been doing so much for her lately and here she was hiding things from her. Right in that moment, she almost spilled everything. Almost. But then, Aunt Ruth took Becky's hand in her own, and she felt the strength and warmth they still held, and the feeling faded.

Auntie's soft expression hardened a bit as she creased her brow. "You'll be a good girl?" Though it was a question it came out as a statement, in only a way Aunt Ruth could.

"Yes, ma'am," she answered, just the way she'd been taught.

Becky pulled her small suitcase from the backseat, and in the next moment she was standing on the curb before her auntie's rolled down window.

"Tell your mother 'hello' when you visit her at the hospital," she reminded.

Becky's mother had come to Tulsa more than a week before, to be at the hospital where she would "work late shifts" most of the time.

"I will."

With one last smile, Aunt Ruth worked the window crank handle, and the glass rose between them. The car roared to life and began to lurch forward.

Becky watched her aunt go until she was out of sight. She waited a minute to make sure. Then another. She knew that it was time to go, that it was now or never, but the heart racing in her chest betrayed her fear.

She could see the sleepy motel out of the corner of her eye, and she thought of the dusty bed that awaited her arrival, hours from now. It seemed very inviting at the moment, and yet she turned and headed in the other direction. A stop was less than a block down, where a bus, that was soon to arrive, would take her to the West Side, to meet the white man who had promised that her life was going to change.

* * *

><p>"No," Darry said, his tone making the decision final.<p>

"But, Darry-" Ponyboy began to protest.

"You've been out long enough already, Pony. There's nothing more to be talked about. You're heading back on Monday."

It was the Friday evening after Johnny's release from the hospital. The initial awe of Johnny's revival and recovery was wearing off for most of the gang, having been flushed out and watered down by the many celebratory drinks and meals. With most of the celebration behind them, Darry was already doing what he did best: cracking down to business.

The certain business that needed to be attended to at the moment was Ponyboy's schooling. For a while now they'd been arguing over the matter. Johnny had been sitting with them since they first started, and now it was late afternoon. He could tell by the frustration written all over Darry's face that he just wanted to get this over with. But of course today of all days Pony had wanted to be stubborn, and protested to anything Darry had to suggest.

At some point, Dally joined them at the table, straddling a chair backwards and staring off into space. He was quiet throughout the argument, which was strange. He usually took some part in these conversations, if not only to just give Ponyboy a smack upside his head for "being disrespectful." It was more of Johnny's "thing" to sit tight and keep his mouth shut.

Unfortunately, Ponyboy wasn't taking after Johnny very much, and was beginning to object again. But, one look from his older brother shot down any complaint he had.

Johnny glanced over at Ponyboy, who had settled for glaring at the kitchen table in silent annoyance. He spoke up finally, to reassure his friend. "Don't worry, Ponyboy, I'll go with you and it won't be so awful."

Ponyboy's face softened a bit at the idea. Johnny knew he'd be willing to compromise; things were usually less bad when they were together. It was still shocking to think that less than a few days before Pony would have had no choice but to face this- and anything else, really- by his lonesome.

Darry paused, seemingly contemplating over what Johnny had proposed. Johnny knew that he too would go for the idea. Darry usually didn't have a problem with the two of them tagging around together. They kept each other out of trouble, giving him one less problem to worry about.

Darry started to speak, but, Dally beat him to the punch.

"Sorry, no can do, kiddo."

They all looked over at him, surprised at his sudden interest in the conversation.

"Those Socs'll be on your hide if they know that you're out and about again. I think it'd be best if you stayed put for a while."

Having said his piece, Dally went about his business, and pulled out his pack of cigarettes from the inside of his jacket. He put the smoke between his lips before resting his chin back on the chair's top, like he hadn't spoken at all.

"Okay," Johnny mumbled with a shrug. Dally had been in a mood lately, and he didn't dare to say anything against him.

Ponyboy, on the other hand, sat looking dumbfounded. He glared at Darry, then Dally, and then back again. Though he met Ponyboy's eyes with a steady gaze, Darry sat with his lips pursed amusedly, not saying a word back.

"You got something t'say, kid?" Dally challenged having noticed the one-sided stare off.

The question caught Ponyboy off guard, and his face flushed profusely. He didn't even bother to come up with a retort. There was no winning with Dally.

"No," he answered.

Grumbling, Ponyboy got up from his chair, and left the room. Johnny followed, leaving Darry with his paper and Dally with his thoughts…

Friday night ended, and Saturday night passed too, before suddenly it was the night before Ponyboy had to return to school. Soda made chocolate cake for dinner, in an attempt to raise Ponyboy out of his mood, but even that hadn't worked.

The moment the sun went down, Two-Bit left to go hunt some Sunday night action, and Dally disappeared too, saying he'd "checkup" on Johnny's parents while he was out. Now, the house was quiet, with Johnny sprawled on his stomach on the couch, nursing a headache, and Darry skimming the paper again. Soda and Steve were out front, fiddling around with Steve's car in the lighting of the moon and dim porch light. Ponyboy had sat on the front steps watching them for a while until Steve had grumbled that unless he was going to make himself useful he might as well head off inside.

Doing just that, Ponyboy plopped down next to couch and switched the television set on. He searched for something good on the three channels the TV had before settling on _The Flintstones_. Even if it meant that Darry would gripe at him to change the channel when the local news came on at seven, on channel 2, he kept it on because Johnny liked the show and Ponyboy had been watching it since he was a kid.

"How's it going, Johnnycake?" Ponyboy asked, taking his eyes off the screen where Fred Flintstone was pushing his stone car with his feet, in a hurry. Sodapop would love to live in a world like this, where you got to run around barefoot all the time and have tuff cars like these.

"I hurt something awful," Johnny mumbled into the couch cushions, a grimace creasing his forehead.

Ponyboy switched down the volume a couple notches, out of courtesy, before asking, "Wanna 'nother aspirin?"

"Nah, just took a couple not too long ago and it looks like y'all 'most out."

Ponyboy vaguely remembered swallowing half the bottle for his own aches just days before. He nodded and mumbled something about buying some more on his way back from school the next day.

"…_you'll have a gay old time!"_

"Wil_ma!"_

Fred Flintstone beat on the door to his house, after being locked out by the saber-toothed cat, and slowly began to fade from the screen. Darry didn't miss a beat. "Pony, the ne-"

"Yeah, I know," he replied with more sass than Darry probably found necessary.

Much to Ponyboy's relief, he didn't get after him about it, and instead focused his eyes on the TV. A blond woman and dark-haired man appeared, smiling their white-toothed grins.

"Good evening," the woman introduced, "I'm Mary Anne Porter, and this is my co-host Bob Carey-"

Johnny winced in his sleep at the name.

Ponyboy leaned his head back against the couch, his eyes becoming heavy. He didn't realize that he was dozing off until he opened his eyes again and saw the news beginning to wrap up.

The camera was focused on Mary Anne as she said, "…and for our last story of the night-"

Ponyboy looked across the room to find Darry's chair empty. He rolled his eyes, wondering why Darry even bugged him about changing the channel all the time when he didn't stay for the duration of the show. He leaned forward again and began to turn the knob, but something on the TV caught his ear.

"There could be some changes for Tulsa schools soon, Will Rogers High in particular," the newswoman stated. "Due to the many trials against the school boards for being 'unconstitutional,' the Supreme Court would like Tulsa schools- and eventually all Oklahoma schools- to hop on the 'integration bandwagon' immediately. We talked to Tulsa residents, who were parents of students who attended Rogers, earlier today…"

The recordings began to play. They were all interviews from Soc parents, and every single one opposed the integration idea. One particular Soc lady was very adamant, to say the least, and many of the derogatory comments she said made Ponyboy flinch.

Just as he willed himself to change the channel, Soda came bounding into the house, making his way to the living area. As always, his shoes were already kicked off at the front door. Leaning over the back of the couch, careful of Johnny's sleeping figure, he mussed his brother's hair. "Whatcha watchin', Pony?"

His answer came from the TV, as the lady finished very simply, "We don't want no niggers at our schools, period."

Soda's eyebrows shot up in question.

"Darry was watching it," Ponyboy muttered in answer.

Never the one to question, Soda just shrugged it off and went to flip the channel himself, putting it on another cartoon. Ponyboy had had enough TV for the night, and anyway, he had school the next day. He got up and went off to the bedroom.

* * *

><p>Ponyboy woke to someone shaking his shoulders. They were saying his name too, telling him to wake up. He wished they'd stop.<p>

He opened one eye and then the other, letting the room come into focus. Darry stood over him, already in his work clothes. He was the one shaking him.

Ponyboy swatted his hand away and rolled over. "Go away," he mumbled.

Things only went downhill from there.

When he rolled over, he ended up getting a face full of Soda's feet. From the smell of them, he hadn't bothered to change his socks for the past few days. And, to make matters worse, once Pony caught a whiff of them there was no un-smelling the stench.

He buried his face in the pillow and groaned.

At the same time, Darry had finally gotten fed up with Ponyboy and his attitude. One minute, Pony was on the bed, and in the next he was being dragged by his feet out of the blankets and landing with a thud on the floor.

By the time he sat up again, Darry was in the doorway, looking pretty satisfied with himself. "You got ten minutes to be out of this room and into the kitchen," he called over his shoulder as he left.

Ponyboy grumbled and rolled his eyes. Seeing that there was no point in defying his brother again by crawling back into bed, he stood up to get dressed.

He traded out his flannel night pants for some jeans he'd left lying on the ground the night before, and pulled a plaid button down shirt over his white t-shirt. As he changed his socks he couldn't help but send a glare in Soda's direction.

It took him all of two minutes to change. He used the last eight in the bathroom. His hair was the main time consumer. He'd given up long ago on trying to make it stay down; the real problem was its blondness. It was hard to hide, despite the amount of hair grease he'd put on his head. Ponyboy finally gave up as Darry called the two minute warning.

"Done primping?" Darry asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee as Ponyboy stormed into the kitchen.

It was all Ponyboy could do not to roll his eyes.

Once he ate his way through two bowls of Cheerios, Ponyboy was out the door. He made his way to the bus stop, which was all the way on the other side of the train tracks; everyone in the gang who had a car had been unavailable. Two-Bit, who had probably appeared at some ungodly hour that morning, was sleeping off a hangover on the floor, and Darry was already gone by the time he finished breakfast. Steve hadn't come over to pick up Sodapop yet, so that ruled him out. That left Dally, but, as usual, he was nowhere to be found. Not that Ponyboy would have bothered asking him anyway.

The bus ride to Will Rogers was quick, and Ponyboy was glad. Apparently, to the Socs, seven a.m. was never too early to give a greaser a dirty look.

As he stepped off of the bus, a sense of dread hit him as he realized that the Socs wouldn't be the only ones giving him funny looks that day.

The day began okay. Most people didn't even recognize him with his short and blond hair. Of course, he had to announce his presence to his classes, and everyone in the room would turn and look at him and murmur. The teacher would shush them and tell them not to gawk, but even they sent weird looks his way throughout the day.

Ponyboy was all but excited when the last period of the day came. It was eighth period English with Mr. Syme, and he was sure he could make it through that.

Ponyboy took a seat in the back of the room, like he had in his other classes, as not to draw attention to himself. He kept his eyes on his desk, bracing himself for the moment when his name would be publicized during roll call.

"Felicia Brown?"

A brown haired girl with a bob cut announced herself as present.

"Allan Cummings?"

Ponyboy looked up just as Mr. Syme's eyes fell on him. His name was next.

"Mark Fanning?"

Ponyboy almost fell out his chair in disbelief. Mr. Syme had skipped his name…

The bell rang, signifying the end of class and the school day. Ponyboy hung back while the rest of the students filed out of the classroom. When the last student had filtered out, he approached Mr. Syme's desk.

"Thank you," he said.

"Anytime, Mr. Curtis," he replied, without looking up from the papers on his desk that he was grading.

Ponyboy awkwardly shuffled his feet waiting to see if his teacher would continue talking or if it was the right moment to leave.

"While...I…have you…" Mr. Syme began saying, to break Ponyboy's unsure silence. He continued to scribble red marks on some student's homework for a few more seconds before turning his attention to Ponyboy. "While I have you, I'd like to talk about your grades.

"Now I realize you've been out for a while for reasons beyond your control…and I know how hard it will be for you to make up the work before the end of the marking period. So instead of having you make up each individual assignment, I'd like to give you a theme."

"A theme?" Ponyboy interrupted.

"Yes, a theme. It can be on any topic of your choice as long as it's longer than two pages. If you can turn it by Friday I can pass you with a _C_."

Ponyboy thought about it. He'd never gotten a _C_ before. Darry would've have grounded him into the next week if he brought anything lower than a _B-_. But, it seemed like it was that or an _F_, and he would never see daylight again if the latter grade came in on his report card.

"Okay, I can do that, I guess," he mumbled.

"Great. I'll see you next class then." Mr. Syme stood up and began to gather his papers.

Ponyboy stepped back from the desk and made his way to the door. "Thank you, Mr. Syme."

"Have a nice day, Mr. Curtis," he called after him.

Ponyboy stopped at the water fountain on his way out. There was a hole in the wall next to it, and a tool box lay open on the ground. He bent to take a drink but was stopped by a man in overalls.

"Water fountain's outta order for now, kid."

A confused look must have passed over Ponyboy's face because the man rolled his eyes and explained, "We're building another one. Now, beat it, kid, I got work to do."

Ponyboy straightened up and walked back the way he came. As he passed Mr. Syme's classroom he slowed. The door was slightly ajar and through the glass he could see that Mr. Syme was in with someone. It was that curly headed kid, Allan Cummings.

"My dad said we're meeting again tonight," he heard him tell the teacher. "He also mentioned something about you needing to decide on a greeter as soon as possible."

Mr. Syme wiped a hand over his face, using the other wave the kid away. "Alright," he replied with a sigh. "Tell him I'll meet him at that back of the diner."

Allan nodded. "Yes, sir."

Noticing that Allan was coming towards the door where he was eavesdropping, Ponyboy sped up.

As he walked away, he couldn't help the curiosity that pricked in the back of his mind. What did Mr. Syme need a greeter for?

* * *

><p><em><strong>(AN)**_**: **_Okay, I hope the ending wasn't too sucky or cliffhanger-ish. Sorry there wasn't much sight of my OC but by next chapter you should see a bit more of her. _

_But, anyway, yay! I finally finished the first chapter! Hope you liked and I will try to update quicker next time. Please R and R. And, again thanks to all those who reviewed and favorited and followed._

_By the way, _The Flintstones _does not belong to me, nor do the _Outsiders_._

_Merry Christmas and (to those of you who don't celebrate it)…Happy Holidays!_

_-DazzlinPinkLemonade _


	3. Chapter 2

A Different Outsider

**Part 1: The Tulsa Project**

**Chapter 2**

It was late afternoon when Dally awoke. Dusty light filtered in through the blind slats on the window. He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger, using his other arm to prop himself up.

His memories of the night before were fuzzy, and he tried to recall the reason for his sudden amnesia. He remembered having a couple drinks; he could take his liquor, so that couldn't be it. A flash of Sylvia passed through his mind, too, and he wondered if she had a part.

Dally sat there for a while, slowly coaxing the memory from the deep recesses of his mind. It came in bits and pieces for the first few minutes- a sly, red-lipstick smile here or a fist glittering with a class ring there- before he could finally recollect it in full.

As he'd suspected, it _did _have something to do with Sylvia.

"_Since when do you read?" _

_Dally looked up to find Sylvia leaning against the doorframe to the room. Her ash brown hair fell around her face, casting a shadow that hid her eyes. She wore a rather revealing blouse and a short denim skirt, which, by the looks of the thread hanging from the hem, had been cut by herself. From her heavily made up face- complete with a smoky eye shadow and red lipstick- to her skimpy outfit, he could tell that she had dressed to please tonight._

_Well, she was going to have to go find someone else to flaunt herself to because he wasn't falling for that tonight._

_He was laying down when she came in, and so she sat herself at his feet. She began to walk her fingers up and down his leg, along the seams of his jeans, going higher and higher._

"_I'm not in the mood, Sylvia," he said from behind the newspaper. _

_She let out a pouty sigh and he rolled his eyes. "What, is Tim beginning to bore you?" he asked, bending the newspaper away from his face so he could catch her reaction. He'd put her off guard, just as he'd hoped, but it only took a moment for her to regain her composure._

"_I don't know what you mean," she replied innocently, turning her head and fluffing the ends of her hair with a bare shoulder. _

"_Really? 'Cause the whole East Side seems to know about you running around with him while I was in the slammer."_

_Sylvia rolled her eyes but didn't reply. Dally could tell she wasn't in a difficult mood tonight. If it were any other night, she'd have chewed him out and gone on and on about his absence being his own fault, and how she got bored, and that she was a woman who "needed to be kept," and whatnot. No, she wanted something, and tonight, Tim apparently didn't have what it took to give it to her. _

"_C'mon, let's go downstairs," she whined, reaching over and tugging at his arm. _

"_No," he snapped. "Leave."_

_Something sparked in her eye, and she raised her eyebrow. The flirty Sylvia was disappearing; no one turned her down. _

"_Oh really? Well I say you're coming downstairs, and you're going to enjoy Buck's party with me."_

_Dally looked up again and met her eyes. They held his steadily, defiance gleaming in them. She was not about to let this go._

_He wouldn't get any peace until he pleased her. Dally figured he might as well go and get this over with. But, in some weird way, he kind of _wanted_ to go. She wasn't giving him a choice and Dally liked that. Missed it even. _

"_Alright."_

Things had gotten worse after drinks came into play. He shouldn't have gone downstairs in the first place, but Sylvia was persuasive.

_They stood at the bar, Sylvia pressed next to him like they were attached at the hip. The lights in the house were dimmed low, and sweaty bodies- some scantily clad- bumped into one another as they bobbed to the beat of the music._

"_Dance with me," Sylvia teased, batting her mascara-thick eyelashes._

"_Nah," Dally replied, nonchalantly. For one of Buck's parties, it was a bore, and the last thing he wanted to do was dance to a Beatles song._

"_But you promised," she pouted._

"_I didn't promise nothin'."_

"_Didn't promise what?" _

_Tim Shepard appeared out of thin air, his thick eyebrows raised in question._

_Dally pulled himself out of his bored, glazed state and focused on Tim. He started to answer, but Sylvia spoke before he could. _

"_He didn't promise he wouldn't try nothin' with me."_

_Sylvia was no longer by Dally's side and was instead leaning against Tim. A sly smile broke across her lips as she watched her words settle in. _

_In a moment, a realization struck Dally: he'd been set up. That two-timing witch._

_It took Tim a little longer to understand what Sylvia was getting at, but as soon as it dawned on him, a bright red color had erupted across his face and his anger rose. "I turn my back for five minutes and already you're hitting on my girl?"_

_Dally turned to face Sylvia, who wasn't even trying to hide her amused look. Dally didn't like to fight girls, but right in that moment he would have loved to knock Sylvia's pretty little teeth out. "You dirty little broad," he spat._

_She didn't even blink an eye, and glared right back at him with an even look. _

"_You leave her outta this!" Tim yelled, pushing Sylvia behind him. _

_He shoved Dally and he shoved him back. Somebody- Buck maybe- yelled at them to take it outside… _

After that the memory got blurry again. Dally vaguely remembered Tim getting a good punch in, his (stolen) class ring and all connecting with the side of his head. Well, there was the answer for knot on his head and the amnesia.

Dally lay back against the pillow. He'd screwed up. Again. He could blame Sylvia all he wanted but he really had gotten into this all by himself.

Dally remembered Darry talking to him a few days before. Dally told him he wanted to straighten up a bit- he had a plan in mind and everything. But Darry was right; if he wanted it to work he'd have to get serious. And falling into Sylvia's antics and fighting with Tim wasn't exactly what you would call getting serious.

Dally picked up the paper that lay folded on the floor. He opened up to the page he'd been on the night before. JOB LISTINGS, it read.

He wiped his hand over his face and sighed. He needed to straighten up. For Johnny.

* * *

><p>The district of Greenwood was a quiet neighborhood. The motel Becky stayed at a few nights before was only the worst of it. Most of the buildings were still in good shape despite the devastating effects of the Tulsa Race Riot, back in the 20's.<p>

According to Mrs. Carter, the apartment owner's mother, it had been full and thriving, once. Back then, the district had been known as the "Black Wall Street." It had everything, from nice restaurants to the hottest nightclubs. Mrs. Carter used to sing in one, all of those years back.

She told Becky all of this as they sat at the kitchen table in the Harrises' apartment, waiting for Mrs. Carter's daughter, Mrs. Harris, and her granddaughter Penny to come home. Becky had been sitting there for almost an hour, listening to the stories of Mrs. Carter's singing days. They really were interesting, and she was loving to listen to them, but the nagging in the back of her mind made it hard for her to pay attention.

She had met that man and his friend for a third time last night, and she had to meet them again tonight. They knew about the situation with Becky's mother, and so Becky had been going to see them alone.

Things had gone smoothly so far. There was only one tricky part to the plan, though: where they could meet up. Two white men meeting a black girl at a restaurant on the North side would be suspicious, and meeting on the West side again, at the school where the first man worked at, would start to cause trouble. The only place left where they had connections was on the East side, at a low key diner. After much heated debate (one man complained that there were too many delinquents roaming around, the other man argued it was fine and that he had been going since he was a boy), they decided that would be the "safest" place.

The front door opened, stopping Mrs. Carter's storytelling, and arising Becky from her mind. A woman walked into the apartment, a girl trailing not far behind. They both had paper bags full of groceries in their arms, and Becky jumped up to help as their contents teetered over the edges.

Mrs. Carter waved at her to sit down and rolled her eyes into the direction of the woman. "She wouldn't take help if her life depended on it," she muttered.

In a flash, the woman was un-bagging the groceries and putting them into their places in the cabinets. The girl stepped aside and let her take charge. She took a moment to look around the apartment before she noticed Becky.

Becky met the girl's doe-like eyes, and did her best to smile politely, quirking her lips into what probably looked more like a smirk. Becky never had been the best at smiling on demand, or at least looking pleasant. It was something, as her mother used to mutter, that she had gotten from her father.

"Well, who do we have here?" The woman had finished putting her shopping items away and now faced Becky, taking in the new guest.

"I'm Ava Harris," she added, sticking her hand out over the counter for Becky to shake.

Becky took the woman's hand in hers, softly saying, "Rebecca Richardson."

"Richardson?" Ava mulled the name over for a moment, clucking her tongue. "I think I got a call from a woman with that name. Your mother?"

"Aunt," Becky corrected.

"Yes, that's right. She rented one of our one-rooms for the two of you."

Becky nodded in agreement, deciding not to mention the fact that her aunt would be gone two weeks at a time, going back and forth from Abilene.

Before a short silence could fall, Ava clapped her hands and turned to her daughter. "Penny, why don't you take Ms. Rebecca to your room for a minute? Maybe show her your record player," she suggested.

"Yes'm," Penny replied before walking off with Becky in tow.

Penny's room was small, and from the looks of it, she shared it with someone. The whole room was a faded white color, but one half was covered in pictures. Becky recognized a few faces: Marvin Gaye, Al Green, Anita Baker, the Four Tops**. **  
>Becky stood in the doorway as she watched the girl go to her dresser and pick up a record. Carefully, Penny pulled it out of its sheath and set it up on the player.<p>

"You like the Temptations?" she asked, taking a seat on the rug-clad floor.

"_Do_ I," Becky replied as she went to sit with Penny, tucking her legs underneath her.

They sat without speaking, listening to the tune playing.

"…_what can make me feel this way? My girl, my girl. I'm talking 'bout _my _girl. My girl!_"

"Becky?" Ava's head appeared in the doorway. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

_Dinner?_ Becky thought.

She had almost forgotten about tonight and the fourth meeting.

"I can't!" Realizing how brash she sounded, she reiterated her words. "I mean, I'm sorry; I'd love to but I can't. My cousin is stopping in town for a couple hours and they invited me to dinner."

Ava waved her hand, brushing off her apology. "Oh that's fine, hun. We'll have to get together another time."

Becky was glad Mrs. Harris had left it at that; she didn't want to come up with yet another lie. It was almost scary how good she had gotten at telling them.

She stood up to leave, thanking Ava and Penny on her way out. With a wave to Mrs. Carter, she was out the door and on her way.

After stopping by the new apartment to bathe and change into a fresh, canary-yellow dress, Rebecca walked to the bus stop, four blocks away.

She found of a free seat next to an old man who politely moved his cane so she could sit. The seats were right where the "white-only" border ended and where the "colored-only" one began. It scared her to be sitting so close. What if she was mistaken and she had crossed over onto the wrong side? Though she knew she hadn't, the dirty looks she was getting from a middle-aged white lady two rows ahead wasn't making her feel too hot.

Becky hated riding buses.

After a tense ten minutes, the bus finally halted at the stop. Becky slipped off with the small crowd of greasy-haired, leather and denim clad people, trying not to draw attention to herself. The looks she would get, from white and colored people alike, if they saw her get off on the East side!

She walked a block, as she'd been told to do, staying in the shadows. If anyone saw her…

Becky made it to the meeting place- the back way behind a laundromat- where a station wagon sat waiting. A man stepped out to greet her.

"Miss Richardson," he said with a slight nod.

"Hello, Mr. Syme."

He opened the back door for her and climbed back into the shotgun seat, the other man starting up the car.

"How's your mother, Rebecca? You see her lately?" the driver asked as he pulled away from the back lot.

"They've been busy at the hospital," she replied quietly.

He nodded with understanding and shifted his eyes from the rear view mirror and back to the road. For the rest of the ride, it was silent.

It wasn't long before they pulled into the next back lot- this one behind a diner.

"This is the _East_ side, Jonathon. Are you sure this is safe?" the man asked as he put the car in park.

Mr. Syme rolled his eyes. "It was safe the first time we checked it out, wasn't it? And anyway, this isn't the worst of them there is, Walter. I could've picked The Dingo and a girl got _shot_ there some time back."

The other man clenched his jaw, clasping the steering wheel tightly for a moment. He closed his eyes. "If anything happens to her, the Court'll kill us."

"I know."

Walter unbuckled his seatbelt. "Well, let's just get this over with. We have a lot to go over before next month."

He came around to the other side of the car and let Becky out. Mr. Syme had already gone ahead to let their "connection" know they were there. They walked through the back alley and up to the back door of the restaurant. Walter stood behind her as they waited.

After a few minutes, the door swung open.

"After you," Mr. Syme said, with an ushering gesture as he held the door open.

* * *

><p>"Heard that we got ourselves a nigger."<p>

The word stung Johnny's ear as two boys, dressed in denim jackets and jeans with cowboy boots, walked by snickering. He liked that word as much as he liked hearing the word "greaser" directed toward him every time a Soc drove past him in one of their shiny cars.

He didn't bother to look around to see what they had been laughing about; his head hurt too much. He'd felt fine the first few days he had been back, but lately headaches and back pains had been sneaking up on him. He wondered if it had anything to do with his miraculous recovery…

"Whatcha thinking 'bout, Johnnycake?"

Ponyboy had asked the question, the boredom clear in his voice.

"Nothin'," he replied, fiddling with the sugar dispenser.

A silence fell across the whole table after that. Darry was sitting with them so of course Ponyboy had little to say, and Steve and Sodapop were hanging around the jukebox, with at least half a dozen girls trying to hang off of the Curtis brother's arm.

They were at a new place tonight, The Red Rooster_._ Dally had suggested they come here as part of his plan for Johnny to lay low. Johnny had been here only once before, when The Dingo was temporarily closed for the investigation of the girl who got shot. It was a less eventful, less advertised restaurant with a mixed crowd. Mainly greasers and hitchhikers from south of the border. But, the owner managed to keep the place in check and under the radar and so the place stayed in business.

"Hey, scooch, will ya."

Johnny looked up to find that Dally had arrived. Nodding silently, he scooted down on the bench, closer to Ponyboy, letting Dally into the booth.

Noticing that Dally had arrived, Sodapop and Steve came strolling back from the jukebox, Soda's collar popped up and his hair tousled from all of those girls.

"Hiya, Dal!" Soda greeted.

He squeezed in next to Darry, Steve sliding in next to him.

"Where's Two-Bit?" Dally asked, sticking a toothpick in his mouth and rolling it with his lips.

"Tryin' to get the some booze out of the waitress," Steve drawled, jutting his chin over to where Two-Bit stood at the counter.

The waitress had a bored look on her face, as she crossed her arms over her chest. Two-Bit spoke animatedly, using a lot of hand gestures, though to no advantage it seemed. After a few more minutes of arguing, he came loping towards them.

"No dice," he said once he'd arrived at the table. He managed to muster up an ounce of dejectedness, the grin on his face supposing otherwise. Life was a game to him, and if there was one thing Two-Bit wasn't, it was a sore loser.

Two-Bit pulled up a chair, sitting it at the head of the table. "Did ya'll hear the news?"

"What news?" Dally asked, leaning over the back of the booth to beckon a waitress.

"Somebody colored is coming here."

"There are plenty of colored people here already. All of them hitchhikers from Mexico," Ponyboy pointed out.

"Nah, I mean I heard them talking about someone from the north, a _black _person."

A black person on the East side was uncommon. They usually kept to themselves, on the North side. They didn't go bothering the greasers and the greasers didn't go bothering them. It was mainly the Socs who they had a problem with. It seemed like the Socs always had to go at it with somebody.

"Ah, you're full of crap, Two-Bit," Steve said, rolling his eyes.

"I am _not_! If anything-"

"Cut it out, will ya?" Darry snapped. "The waitress is here."

A girl timidly approached their booth, pulling a pad and pencil out of the front pocket of her apron. "Can I take your order?"

"Sure ya can, doll," Sodapop cheerfully replied with a wink.

"Hey, whatcha want to eat?" Dally nudged Johnny's side, getting his attention. At the touch of his elbow, a wave of pain hit him, going from his side to his lower back, and Johnny groaned softly.

"Sorry, kiddo. My bad." Dally's eyes softened at the sight of his discomfort.

Johnny brushed off the apology with a shake of his head. "S'okay. And I'll just have a cheeseburger. With everything."

"What about you, Pony?"

"Same as Johnny."

Dally nodded, a shadow of guilt still in his eyes, and turned away to spout off the orders to the waitress...

The food came quickly, and they ate in silence, without the usual distractions of The Dingo to add some liveliness to their night. It was still light out when they were done, the sun beginning to lower in the sky.

Sometime after a busboy came and took their finished plates, Two-Bit broke the quiet. "Well would you look at that; I _was_ right!"

The gang turned to see what Two-Bit was looking at. In a booth hidden in the back of the restaurant, by the doors that led to the kitchen, was a black girl, sitting across the table from a white man.

Two-Bit turned and looked at Steve, smirking smugly. "Chew on that, ya sonuva-"

"Hush up would you, Two-Bit. You're making a scene. She obviously doesn't want to be seen," Ponyboy hissed.

The girl held her hand to her brow, her fingers going into her hairline as she shielded her face from the view of those around her.

Johnny guessed Ponyboy must have been feeling empathetic, from what he'd told him about being gawked at all day, at school.

"I ain't tryna make a fuss, kid. I was just pointing her out."

"Well, you've seen how it's been on the news. The last thing this place needs is for someone to start something."

Two-Bit snorted. "That's _exactly_ what this place needs- some publicity. Word gets around and this place will be _crawling_ with people coming to get a look at her."

"Quit talkin' about her like that. She ain't a zoo animal."

"Oh, didn't mean it like that, just that people would be interested in the first integrated restaurant on the East side."

Two-Bit did have a point there. But nobody was about to tell Two-Bit (Two-Bit of all people!) that he was right. So, instead, Ponyboy mumbled out a, "Sure, Two-Bit, whatever you say," and rolled his eyes.

A moment passed, and Two-Bit had forgotten all about the girl, turning to Dally and managing to get a rise out of him. It sounded like he'd said something about his on-and-off-again girlfriend, Sylvia. Johnny wasn't sure; he was too busy focusing on the girl.

Her skin was a light brown, the same color of Darry's coffee, the way Johnny had seen him take it: black, no sugar, with lots of cream. In contrast to her light skin, her eyes and hair were dark. Her eyes were like midnight, but bright and alert, and her hair fell past her ears in tight, coarse curls. Her hair was unlike any black girl's he'd seen, their hair either pushed up into an afro or straightened. Her hair seemed to be in between, a mix of the two styles.

A feeling of familiarity passed over Johnny as he looked at her ears. They were a funny thing, defined and pointed, with the ends sticking out of her kinky hair. But, he knew for a fact that he'd never seen her before and the feeling went away.

Glancing over at Ponyboy, he saw that he was watching her too. They seemed to be the only ones looking at her, which was a good thing in this case.

"Ya think that's her dad or something?" Johnny whispered.

"Nah, I don't think so. Can't be."

A black person on the East side was almost unheard of but relationships between races was even more so. Of course people talked about these types of hookups. It was rare though. To some, sex was sex but even racism seemed to touch this topic too.

Another man approached that table; he had just back come back from the bathroom. He didn't box her in against the wall or look at her in some dirty way, and instead took a seat next to the other man, leaving the girl by herself on the other side of the table. Johnny could see it wasn't one of _those_ types of meetings.

"Oh Lord," Ponyboy suddenly moaned.

Johnny glimpsed at his friend again and saw that his ears were turning red, spreading to his cheeks and to his neck.

"What it is, Pone?"

"That's…that's my teacher."

"So?"

"I think he saw me. Oh Glory, he'll want to come over here and talk to Darry. Oh Lord, _no_."

"What's up with the kid?" Dally asked, joining their conversation.

He had had enough of Two-Bit at the moment, and he turned his back on him to face them. ("Ah, c'mon, Dal, you know I was just teasin'," Two-Bit called, only half apologetic.)

"His teacher is here from school," Johnny explained.

If he wasn't so sympathetic, he might've rolled his eyes. Well, Dally did it for him.

"And? This is _our_ territory, not his. He has no rule here."

"He apparently does if he was able to get _her_ in here," Ponyboy retorted as he gestured his eyes to where his teacher, the man, and the black girl sat.

"Ya know, you've been getting' real sassy lately. Don't think I wouldn't be doing Darry a favor by beating that attitude outta you." Dally's eyes were ice cold blue and serious. Johnny was scared to see what happened if even he opened his mouth now.

Ponyboy swallowed and looked down at the table. He was a tough kid- he could take any threat Dally could think up- but he still was just a kid. And it couldn't be easy with Darry on his back and now Dally too.

"He don't mean nothin', Pony," Johnny mumbled, trying to cut him a break.

Ponyboy shrugged it off, like it was nothing, but still slightly nodded his head.

"Alright, I think it's time to head home. You have school tomorrow, kiddo," Darry announced.

They all stood to leave, stopping by the register at the front so Darry could pay the bill. Johnny didn't think much of it when that man- Ponyboy's teacher- got in line behind them to pay his own check.

They were turning to go when he called them out.

"Hello, Ponyboy."

The younger boy tensed and froze on the spot. The color left his cheeks once more. Johnny could see his worst fear written on his face: his teacher would give some horrid report to Darry and his life would be over.

But that was it. "I'll see tomorrow and class, then," he concluded with a nod of his head as he stepped up to the register.

Once out to the station wagon, Ponyboy darn near passed out with relief.

_**(A/N): **__Hey guys! I know, I've been away for a while. So much testing came up and FINALS. I planned to have this chapter up sooner, along with the next one. But, summer's coming to an end now and my plan to post more chapters has slowed down a bit. I'm working on Chapter 3 and I hope to have it up very soon, depending on my schedule. Review please! Thanks so much!_

_-DazzlinPinkLemonade_


	4. Chapter 3

A Different Outsider

**Part 1: The Tulsa Project**

**Chapter 3**

Ponyboy really wished it wasn't Tuesday. He could've convinced himself that he could make through the end of the day if it was a Friday, maybe, or even a Thursday. But, lo and behold, as he lay there next to his brother with sunlight beginning to filter in through the blinds, it was only Tuesday morning.

On the bright side, he'd woken up better than he had yesterday. Darry hadn't come in the room to get him up yet- it was still early enough that Darry himself was probably getting ready- and Sodapop had fallen asleep beside his brother this time (there were no dirty socks in his face this morning). Ponyboy, to his own surprise, could actually have a few minutes to himself before the day started.

He got out of the bed, going to sit at his desk. Although he was able to avoid his brother's rather raunchy feet, he was still subject to Soda's open, snoring, (drooling) mouth. It was kind of hard to think when you had someone making noises in your ear.

He flipped through the notebook that sat on the surface of the table. He'd been working on it ever since he got home yesterday, before they'd gone out for supper. The other assigned make-up work he could do in a jiff- he hadn't been skipped a grade for nothing- but the theme required more thought and time. There was so much he could write about- his parents; when he lived in the country as a kid; Soda's old horse, Mickey Mouse- and yet he'd had nowhere to start. So, he chose the event that was freshest in his mind: when he and Johnny ran away.

Darry was right about his head always being up in the clouds: his mind was drifting even after he let it wander in the first place. There wasn't much he could add to his theme at the moment. He was through half the notebook anyway; surely he'd have it done by Friday. With the assignment out of his head for a second, Ponyboy started thinking about yesterday, and all that had happened at The Red Rooster.

The girl stuck out in his mind the most. Ponyboy felt bad for her, remembering how she had tried to hide behind her hand from the many looks people cast her way. He knew the feeling all too well.

Sitting there at the desk, he also wondered what Mr. Syme had to do with that girl. He thought back to Johnny's question, about how if one of the men were her dads or something. They couldn't have been though, he was sure of it. Something about their meeting in the back of the diner was formal. He wondered if this had anything to do with what he'd overheard Allan Cummings telling Mr. Syme the afternoon before…

"Ponyboy, are you gettin' ready?" Darry had his head poked through the doorway, the door half open. He was all dressed and ready for work, in his old blue button-up, worn jeans, and brown boots.

Ponyboy looked down at himself, where he sat only half dressed in his white undershirt, from the day before, and boxers. "No."

"Well, you better get to it. I'm leavin' in twenty minutes, if you want a ride."

It was rare that Darry offered to drive him to school. He was usually up and out of the house before it was light out, and when he wasn't he was always in too much in a hurry for Ponyboy's "dillydallying."

The question threw Pony off guard, but he was happy to accept. "Alright, I'll get goin'."

Darry nodded and shut the door behind him.

Ponyboy went to the drawer and pulled out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, throwing his nightshirt on the bed. It landed on Soda, who made a gurgling noise but stayed asleep. As hard as that boy slept, he wouldn't even wake up for a tornado.

* * *

><p>Less than an hour later, Darry pulled up at the school. People were gathered all over the sidewalks and the front lawn, holding signs and yelling. The majority of the crowd were adults, all dressed nicely and formal- in the Soc sort of way. But, despite their clean looks, the rage was clear on their faces.<p>

"What in the world…" Darry muttered, driving slowly as to avoid a collision with the pedestrians spilling out onto the road, on their way to the curb. Just as he began to pick up enough speed to make it the rest of the way to the drop-off area, a Soc woman ran into the street, narrowly missing being hit by the station wagon's front bumper.

She turned to glare at them, and, most likely catching sight of Ponyboy's greased hair, yelled, "Watch it, hoods!"

Darry lifted his hand into a wave, apologetically. "Did another greaser-Soc fight happen or something?" he asked, motioning his head toward the small, angry mob.

"No," Pony replied. He paused to think about it. "Actually I think it might have something to do with that integration thing. It was on TV the other night."

"Oh yeah, that's right." Darry pulled the car to a stop. "Well, just keep your nose clean, kid."

Ponyboy silently nodded his head, which went unseen by his older brother. As he stepped out of the car, Darry pulled him back. "Seriously, Pone, stay outta trouble."

"Alright, Darry. I said alright." He pulled his arm out of his grasp, doing all he could not to roll his eyes.

Darry watched him leave, wearily, hoping that his youngest brother meant what he said…

Ponyboy kept his head down as he walked down the sidewalk, to the front entrance of the school. Socs were gathered on either side of the concrete, on the grass, the anger plastered on their faces even more animated up close. There were no greasers in the crowd, he noticed; he figured they had worse things to worry about than the possibility of the black population being able to attend their schools.

"Hey, grease!"

The harsh voice startled Pony out of his thoughts. He looked up to see it belonged to a jock- looking Soc in a letterman jacket. "You must be happy that heat's off of you and your kind, eh?" He grinned then, showing his crooked front tooth. His smile was just about as nasty as his voice.

Ponyboy stared back blankly, not really knowing what to make of what the boy just said.

"Don't you worry, greaser. Soon this integration bull will be over and the attention will be right back on you."

Ponyboy started walking again, ignoring the boy as he let out a burst of laughter. He probably shouldn't have stopped to listen in the first place, but of course, he never used his head.

* * *

><p>Not being enrolled in school yet made life in the apartment pretty slow for Rebecca. Not boring exactly, with all that was going on after moving to Tulsa and all, but things were definitely sluggish.<p>

She started her day early, at school-waking hours, as her mother would have called them. She went on to call her aunt at the number she left for Becky to reach her at in Abilene. It was more of a formality, though; the last thing she wanted to do was to listen to Aunt Ruth ask her questions she couldn't answer in full. But, if she put off calling her any longer, that would just lead to more questions: _Where have you been? What have you been up to? Has your mother been around? _

Lucky for her, Aunt Ruth hadn't been able to come to the phone.

Becky spent most of the morning after that setting up the apartment. She'd washed the silverware and tableware, given to her by Mrs. Harris that morning as she'd been on her way out to drop Penny off at school and to go to work.

Penny attended Booker T. Washington High School, not far from where they lived. Of course the question of whether or not Becky would be going there, or another school maybe, came up. Becky avoided staying on the topic for too long, telling Mrs. Harris that she was just waiting for the official papers and such to process.

This fact, much to her relief, was something Becky did not have to lie about.

Now, it was only eleven-thirty and she had run out of things to do. She dwelled on accepting the open invitation Mrs. Carter had extended to her, letting her come over if she pleased while she remained out of school.

And, as the feeling of something between boredom and drowsiness fell upon her, Becky decided she just might take Mrs. Carter up on her offer…

Mrs. Carter had the twelve-o'clock news on when Becky was let into the apartment. It'd taken her a half hour to convince herself to go down to the first floor and visit the older woman. After the polite, almost formal greetings, they both took seats near the television set, Mrs. Carter in a soft-looking, weathered armchair and Becky in a foldable wicker chair.

"…And there seems to be some protests today at Will Rogers High," Joe Reaves, the noon news anchor, stated. Mrs. Carter leaned forward and turned the volume knob, making the TV grow louder. "The high school seems to be wasting no time in addressing the issue recognized by the Supreme Court. We were declined a response by the school's administrators when asked for questioning on this impending integration…"

Mrs. Carter sat back in her chair. "Hmph," she said quietly, musing it seemed.

Becky chewed her lip, trying to look concerned as well. It didn't really faze her, though; she knew about situations like this from reading. Back in Louisiana, her mother had made her look at old newspapers on Ruby Bridges, and other cases like it. _Preparation_, she called it.

"It's, uh, amazing how some white folks are gettin' upset."

Mrs. Carter _hmphed _again, the sound coming through her nostrils, almost like she was snorting. _Tell me something I don't know_, it seemed to say.

"If only they knew how the girl on the other side must be feeling."

The old woman furrowed her eyebrows. "Girl?"

Becky hadn't realized she said that exact word aloud and suddenly panic ran through her.

"Hasn't the news said something about the black student being, um, female?"

Mrs. Carter's eyes were unwavering as she focused on Rebecca. "No, I don't believe they have, hun."

"Oh, well, I was just thinking about Ruby Bridges. I was reading an old article the other day and, um, I must've gotten the cases confused."

"You know a lot about these integration cases?"

"I- I guess."

"Well, then why don't you tell me what you know. _Everything_."

* * *

><p>Johnny could tell Ponyboy had had a rough day. He burst through the front, the screen door loudly slamming shut behind him, muttering something under his breath as he came storming through the hall. He heard a thud from where he stood in the bathroom; Pony must have dumped his book bag on the floor.<p>

"Crappy day?" Johnny called out.

"You could say that," he heard his friend grumble as he passed the bathroom on the way to the kitchen.

Johnny paused to listen the thumping noises of cupboards and the fridge door opening before turning to look at himself in the mirror. He wasn't looking too hot lately, whatever miracle that had quickly healed him seemingly fading off. Taking beatings at home had taught him to take care of wounds, but the ones he had on his body were like nothing he ever dealt with.

He'd gotten Two-Bit to go to the drug store for him sometime last week, when they hadn't been celebrating. Now, Johnny carefully unwrapped the layers of brown and white gauze Two-Bit had "retrieved" from around his neck, revealing the red, splotchy skin underneath.

He didn't know what they had done to him in the hospital, but the severely burned skin on his hands and shoulders looked like this too. He'd gone to take a shower the other day, and that didn't go too well: the burned areas had gotten redder and burned like crazy. He hadn't told anybody yet, though the gang seemed to be able to tell that he was in some sort of discomfort. Johnny didn't notice the pain as much anymore, though, mostly spending his day sleeping or popping aspirin, sometimes willing himself to eat.

Johnny hoisted himself onto the sink to reach the medicine cabinet high up on the side of the wall. Right as his hand reached the door, pain shot up his lower back and he had to drop his weight back onto the floor. He stopped to catch his breath, leaning against the counter for a moment, waiting for it to return.

"You alright?"

Ponyboy stuck his head through the doorway, looking less irritated than before, holding a bowl of cereal in his hands.

"Yeah…I'mma….I'm alrigh'," he replied between labored breaths.

Ponyboy lingered for another moment, glancing at the gauze hanging from Johnny's neck and the swinging cabinet door.

"Ya need that?" he asked, using his eyes to point at the roll of bandages on the shelf.

Johnny could only nod in answer.

Ponyboy reached up, standing on the balls of his feet, and picked up the gauze, all the while eyeing Johnny warily.

Johnny took the gauze from his hands and began to replace the bandages around his neck. He didn't try to shield the healing burns from him, but still quickly rewrapped his injuries. He didn't even think to remember Ponyboy's squeamishness, or the fact that he was eating a bowl of cereal, until the kid almost busted his head open trying to scramble out the door.

"Sorry," Johnny mumbled, ten minutes later when he left the bathroom.

His right hand had started bleeding under the wrappings and he had to take more time to apply pressure and stop the slight flow. Nothing he wasn't used to, though.

Ponyboy nodded in acceptance to the apology as Johnny came to sit next to him on the couch.

"You ever think about going back?"

"To the hospital?"

"Yeah."

Johnny shrugged and sat back. "They let me go for a reason, don't ya think?"

"I guess."

They fell into a silence, only the sound of the television breaking through. At some point, Ponyboy dragged his backpack over and began to do his homework. It seemed to be a lot to Johnny but he watched as his friend went from subject to subject quickly before settling on writing in a composition notebook. Pony was so into his work, Johnny decided not ask what exactly he was writing.

Johnny had no idea what he was going to do when he would be allowed to go to school again. He was nowhere as smart as Ponyboy. By some miracle, he was in the 11th grade, with Two-Bit. Even though he'd skipped a lot while he attended school, somehow he managed to be promoted at the end of each year with C's and the occasional B-. He'd have to get on top of his schoolwork when he returned. If he went back…

The phone rang suddenly. Ponyboy's head jerked up but Johnny got up before he could. Even at his slow pace, Johnny reached the phone, halfway across the room, before it stopped ringing.

"Hello?" he answered, not quite breathlessly.

A minute later he hung up the phone.

"Who was it?" Ponyboy asked, putting his pencil down and closing his notebook.

Johnny shook his head. "Darry. Said he was gonna pick us up as soon he got home."

"Why? Where are we goin'? It's a 'school night'," Ponyboy mimicked in Darry's voice.

"To the hospital. They've been looking for me."

* * *

><p><em><strong>(AN): **__Ok, so this was a little shorter than usual because I felt this was a good place to stop. But, guess what? There's another chapter already posted! Hopefully this wasn't too "all over the place" or had too much information to take in. I'm kind of focusing on Johnny right now, trying to clear up his situation to be as realistic as possible. The next chapter should have some more answers. _

_Also, please feel free to reach out to me if any of the content makes you uncomfortable, for example the use of the n-word. I know how it feels to have that word used against me, and I am trying to limit its use in this story. _

_But anyway, please read on and review and thanks so much for the comments and criticism!_

_DazzlinPinkLemonade_


	5. Chapter 4

A Different Outsider

**Part 1: The Tulsa Project**

**Chapter 4 **

_**Two weeks later…**_

To call the previous two weeks "complicated" would be an understatement. And, for much of its duration, Dally had been in an annoyed, irritated mood.

It had started when Darry had gotten a call from the hospital. Something about how there was a record of Johnny being officially released, and then there wasn't. And _then_, to add to all the confusion, there was a report given by a startled nurse.

_When Dally arrived some five minutes after Darry and the two younger boys did, the frustration was already high for everyone. The nurse at the front desk wanted answers as to why one of Johnny's parents hadn't picked up the phone when they called to get information, and once a half-tailed answer had been given, someone had to go and call a social worker. _

_Dally could tell that part made Darry nervous. Things were going fine at home, with the exception of Ponyboy's running away. There was still always that chance that Soda and Pony could get taken away and put in a boys' home. And now there was the prospect that Johnny might be too, and that had Dally concerned. _

_Two hours later, Darry and Dally still sat in the waiting room of the hospital, waiting for the social worker to arrive. Darry had Sodapop take Ponyboy home- it still was a school night after all. As for Johnny: he had been readmitted. There had been a complication with the x-ray and the written diagnosis of his condition, and they wanted to do another check to make sure things added up. _

"_They wouldn't assign me as his guardian, would they?" Dally asked suddenly._

"_Hm?" Darry had been zoned out, with his eyes closed and two fingers rubbing the bridge of is nose. _

"_Johnny's gonna probably need a guardian so he won't be sent to a boys' home. I was sayin' they probably wouldn't let me be one." _

_Darry paused, looking for the right words, looking for the opposite of what Dally knew was the truth._

"_You're seventeen. Technically you're still a minor. They can't give a minor custody of anybody."_

_Dally shook his head, laughing humorlessly. He stuck his hand in his jacket's pocket, feeling for the pack of cigarettes inside. "Nah. We all know the reason they wouldn't let me is 'cause I'm a hood, a criminal." He laughed again. _

"_You've still got a few months 'til you're eighteen. Maybe if you keep your slate clean 'til then, things could change." _

_Dally shook his head. Even if he could do just that, his list of crimes was too long for any court of law to overlook. But still, Darry's words gave him reassurance, some that he hadn't even realized he needed. _

_He only knew one person who'd been like that, and that was Mrs. Curtis. It almost pained him of how alike she and Darry were. _

* * *

><p><em>A signature. <em>

_One single signature from either of Johnny's parents was all it took to give Darry temporary custody. Two signatures were usually required, but the social worker agreed that with Johnny's situation perhaps the judge would be swayed._

_Darry had been confused as to how they could even get one signature, let alone two. Johnny's mother would usually be the most approachable of his parents, if that was a word that could be used to describe her, even on her "good" days. But, from the scene that had taken place the last time Johnny was in the hospital, she obviously wasn't their best bet._

_At first, Dallas suggested that maybe he should just forge the signature. But, that didn't exactly go along the lines of his plan to straighten up and stay out of trouble. They'd have to go with Plan B, or rather Person B._

_And Dally knew exactly how to get the signature out of him… _

_It was nearly midnight when he arrived where he needed to be. The one story building's lights were out, but Dally knew the residents were home. Someone must have forgotten to pay the light bill. _

Lazy morons_, he thought. He could care less if this was Johnny's parents he was talking about; it was true. _

_When Dally approached the front door, he wasn't surprised to find it unlocked. He let himself inside, striding his way to the kitchen and lighting a cigarette._

_In the darkness, he could make out a form at a battered Formica table. They sat hunched over, elbows resting on the table, and surrounded by numerous beer cans. _

So he's drunk, _he thought_. Just makes my job easier.

"_Who's there?" Mr. Cade's voice came out slow and slurred, which confirmed Dally's original thoughts._

"_What's it to ya?" Dally circled the table and blew out a few rings of smoke._

"_How'd you…get in 'ere?"_

"_You left the frikkin' door unlocked; how'd you think?"_

"_I can…I can 'ave you-" the man let out small belch and continued, "-'rrested for this. Breakin' and enterin' my home."_

_Dally stopped circling to smack his fist down on the table. "Oh yeah? Well I can have _you_ and your no-good _wife_ arrested for child abuse and negligence."_

_Johnny's father laughed harshly before breaking into a cough. "Y'all can't 'rrest me. If that boy ain't dead already then he's as good as gone. Any mark I put on 'im was burned away by that damn fire he had to go and run himself into."_

_Dally punched him square in the jaw, knocking Mr. Cade backwards and breaking the chair's wooden leg. He didn't even feel the pain in his knuckles as he punched him again, feeling only the anger coursing through his veins. He wanted to do it again. And again. And again. He wanted him to know how it felt to be hit while he was down, how it was to have the soreness and bruises to tend to the next day. But he had to stop. This was about Johnny, not his own vengeance for him. _

_Dally yanked the man upright by the collar of his shirt and dragged him back to the table. He pulled the legal paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket and slammed them on the table._

_Dally muttered low in his ear, "Listen here: you are goin' to _sign_ this paper. Think of as the only good thing you do for Johnny in your life. After this, you will _never_ have to give a damn about him again." _

_Mr. Cade worked his jaw, trying to regain feeling back in it, for a few moments. Then, he signed the paper. The signature was surprisingly neat for someone in such an intoxicated and beat up state._

_Dally folded the paper back up, putting it and the pen back into his jacket. He was done here and couldn't bear to stay any longer. He began to walk out…_

"_Do y'all really think you can take care of that runt? Pay for 'im and his bills." Mr. Cade snorted. "You'll be _begging_ a boys' home to take him," he called after Dally as he left the house. _

_Dallas didn't even bother closing the door behind him; it was taking all his strength not to turn back and give that man the beating of his life. _

* * *

><p>It had been a misdiagnosis. Something the hospital apologized over and over for and even dropped the cost of the procedure over.<p>

It turned out what Johnny actually had were vertebral compression fractures, not a broken back. The procedure for it was something he had trouble pronouncing himself. What was it? Kyphoplasty. The doctor who had done the surgery was on "the move" since this was a fairly new and growingly needed technique. He'd stayed long enough to help perform his skin graft surgery, which had to be done after the Kyphoplasty procedure.

Technically, if Johnny had stayed in the hospital for another week after the rumble, he'd have been fine for a while now. But, going home prematurely caused problems, one being that his attempt at taking a shower had caused his skin grafts to get inflamed. Still, it was hard to blame a doctor who was gone, so the fault had been placed on the startled nurse, who "could have stopped him from running out."

Johnny sat on the newly made sheets of his hospital bed. The past two weeks had been long and boring. They hadn't let him get out of bed for the first week, and only this morning had they let him walk around and shower on his own. To say he was ready he was ready to go home would be an understatement.

Home.

It was something he hadn't thought about. He'd only been allowed to know small snippets of details, and he'd also had to talk to a social worker. But, from what he found out, the custody of himself had gone from his parents, "temporarily." Apparently, Dally had somehow gotten a signature that implemented this.

Johnny couldn't tell if the going to get the signature had gone wrong. It didn't seem to have gone "fine and dandy," as Dallas put it when he arrived during visiting hours the day after Johnny's readmission, with bruised knuckles and a hangover.

He'd had an irritated mood the whole time he was visiting and the nurses had to kick him out of the hospital when he vomited into a bedpan. Of course, the hangover went away, but his piss-y attitude didn't for the next two weeks.

Now, Johnny wasn't sure what mood Dallas would have when he came to pick him up that day.

When he finally arrived, Johnny decided it would be okay. His blue eyes were steady and his words weren't slurred- although it was hard to tell given that he was barely speaking.

"Here." Dally pulled something out of a plastic bag and handed it to Johnny.

Johnny glanced down at the container in his hand. Hair grease.

"The hospital wouldn't let us give it to you until you got out. Morons," Dally muttered.

"Uh, thanks."

Dally began walking around the room, picking up items and putting them into the empty plastic bag, all the while talking. "Ponyboy's at school right now and Two-Bit actually went with him today. Go figure."

Johnny nodded in response, staying out of the way as Dally packed up a balled up t-shirt and pilfered a plastic water cup. Johnny rolled his eyes at the pointlessness of taking it but didn't say anything…

The social worker came sometime after to check Johnny out of the hospital and to make sure his living arrangements were squared away. Dally had to take the place of Darry, as he was at work, and had to make sure Johnny got home safely. But, finally, they left the hospital, and were back in the lifestyle of Tulsa.

"You hungry?"

They had been walking for a while now and were close to where the West side met the East, at the train tracks. Dally had been swinging that plastic bag the whole time and Johnny was sure they would break any moment. But, again, he didn't open his mouth about it.

Remembering the question, Johnny shrugged. "I guess."

"'I guess'? You must be starvin' like a dog as much as that hospital food sucked. I know you couldn't've been eating that crap."

"I wasn't all that hungry at the time, anyways." Johnny looked at the graveled road not sure of what to add to that.

Dally stopped swinging the shopping bag and glanced at Johnny. The younger boy had never been much for words but his gaunt face answered Dally's question. But, at least food would fix that problem; he needed to do something about how he was scared and uncomfortable all the dang time.

"Well, I for one am in the mood for a burger. And since The Dingo is out of the question it looks like we'll have to head to The Red Rooster."

Johnny lifted his shoulders again. "Alright."

The rest of the walk to the restaurant didn't take all that long. But as the diner came into view it wasn't hard to tell that something was wrong.

When they finally reached The Red Rooster, Johnny noticed a small crowd gathered around the front. Standing on his toes, he peeked over the tops of the heads of the people. He could see a broken window, its shattered glass laying on the ground in front of the window.

"Wonder what happened," he muttered, mainly to Dally but partly to himself.

"D'know."

They stood there a bit longer, catching snippets of conversation from the people around them. Words like "drive by" and "brick" were repeated but it was hard to pick up on any clear explanation.

Suddenly, shouting from the inside could be heard. "Y'all move _away_ from the dang window and come on in! Good Lord, y'all people don't know how to act."

Many of the people, being just nosy onlookers, moved away from The Red Rooster and went about their days. Once again the hole-in-the-wall was quiet and, for the most part, empty.

Dally began walking towards the door, and so Johnny followed him. Inside, a man was sweeping up glass, grumbling all the while, and a woman sat at the register, dozing off. A few customers sat scattered around the restaurant, but, since it was only a little past midday, there weren't a lot of people.

They found a table in the back and seated themselves across from one another. Not long after the waiter came and took their order, the man sweeping came and hovered by their table.

Dallas looked up at the man and rolled his eyes. "Can I help you, or are you gonna just breathe down the poor kid's neck?"

"Look, _bub_, I had some important information that may concern you. But since you wanna be smart I can just keep it to myself."

"C'mon, Dally. Apologize," Johnny whispered, curious of what the guy had to say.

The man had moved from behind Johnny's seat, and he could see him better now without having to twist his back too much. He had a sort of sleazy look to him with greasy, unwashed black hair and a beer belly that hung over the apron around his waist. He leaned into his broom, with one arm pressed into the long plastic handle. He looked less offended than he did smug as he watched Dally huff out a half-tailed apology.

"Now, what's this oh so 'important information'?"

The man shook his head and smirked. "Uh uh. I think I'll be needing a little persuasion after you done hurt my feelings." He raised his eyebrows and his smirk widened as he rubbed his thumb across the rest of his fingers.

"I ain't givin' you no money. I'm already eating here, ain't I? And it certainly looks like you need my business so I wouldn't get on my bad side."

The man shot a long, weary look at Dally. "Well, since I'm in such a _generous_ mood today I'll tell ya anyway," he said grumbling once again. He pulled a folded up piece of paper from his apron's front pocket and slid it onto the table. "There was a drive-by. Some Socs who were probably skippin' school, I guess. They threw a brick through my window, and this note was attached.

"Says here, that they're looking for some kid named Johnny. I don't know which one of you it was from the other day, but if I were him I'd just lay low."

Johnny looked down at the table, his fingers twiddling with a napkin as he began to tear it up. His heart was in his stomach; with all the problems with his back he'd forgotten about the Socs. But now that they were back, there was no doubt in his mind about what they wanted him for.

Killing Bob.

* * *

><p><em><strong>(AN):**__ Finally! Chapter 3 and 4 are up! Hope they were good and not too confusing or rushed: took me forever to finish this chapter up with schoolwork and all. I hope your holidays are lovely and that you enjoy yourself if you have time off! Please review and Happy Holidays!_

_-DazzlinPinkLemonade_


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